


You Can’t Run from What’s Inside You

by ilostmyshoe



Category: Gilmore Girls, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe/pseuds/ilostmyshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam runs away and hides out in Stars Hollow under the pseudonym of Dean Forrester. The following is the series of letters that he writes to his brother trying to explain the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey Dean

**Author's Note:**

> The letters range in length from pretty short to really short, but I wanted to at least give the option of reading them as separate chapters.

Hey Dean,

Look. I’m sorry, okay? I know you’ll probably freak when you realize I’m gone, and Dad’s gonna be pissed, but I just couldn’t handle it any more. I needed to get out, away from the clusterfuck that my life had become.

I know you think that’s just me being a melodramatic teen, but even you have to admit that the shit storm of our lives would make most people run for the hills. Yeah, it shouldn’t phase a Winchester, but maybe that’s why I need to quit being a Winchester.

Shit. That came out a lot harsher than I meant it. But I need some distance, man. I need a safe, stable place where I can finish high school, where the worst things I have to worry about are cheering for the wrong sports team or not finding a date to prom. Where I never . . . well . . . You know what? Just insert every complaint you’ve heard from me a million times before right here, and you’ll get the idea.

Hey, at least now you won’t have to listen to me whine anymore. Maybe you should be glad that I’m gone. I mean, now you won’t ever be stuck taking care of me. You can go on all of the hunts with Dad, hang out at all of the bars, and hook up with all of the girls. Or, you know, whatever you do when you stay out all night. Hey, at worst you should barely notice a difference.

Basically, I hope you enjoy your new freedom, Dean, because I definitely plan to enjoy mine.

-Sam


	2. Meet Cute

Hey Dean,

I met a girl today. Well, technically I noticed her a while ago, but it took me until today to get up the nerve to talk to her. And, okay, _technically_ she talked to me first, but it still counts, right?

Would you believe that the first thing she said to me was a reference to Rosemary’s Baby? And she seemed surprised when I recognized it? I guess not everyone has a big brother to educate them about classic horror, but it was almost like a sign. Almost like the universe was telling me you’d approve of her, or, y’know, something.

Seriously Dean, you should see her. She’s beautiful, with these huge eyes that show everything she’s thinking and feeling. And she reads all the time, this fantastic spectrum of books. (Yeah, I know that’s not exactly your thing, but you’ve called me a nerd often enough to get why it works for me, right? If you were here you’d make some gross comment about hooking up in libraries or something, but I know you’d get it.)

Of course, it turns out that she’s transferring to a different school tomorrow. Just once, why can’t I have your luck with girls? But no. I should have known using your name wouldn’t make a difference.

Which–yeah. Ummm . . . guess what Dean? I’m going by “Dean” now, “Dean Forrester” to be exact. I figured not using “Sam” will make it a bit harder for you to find me, and the whole point of this is to get a break from being “Sam" anyway, so . . . yeah.  Please don’t be pissed?

And yes, of course I understand that the best plan would have been to pick a name that’s totally unrelated to our family, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I figure I’m already used to paying attention when some calls, “Dean,” so I should adjust pretty quickly.

What’s hard is remembering not to talk about you. Through all of the aliases we’ve used, our relationship was my one constant. Now I can’t refer to “my big brother,” because in my foster family I only have a little sister. It’s surprisingly weird.

Today Rory (that’s the girl’s name) kept talking about cake, and I just wanted to say, “Yeah, my brother totally feels the same way about pie.” I mean, I didn’t (I’m not as incompetent as you and dad seem to think), but I really wanted to.

Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing you tonight? I don’t know. I do know introspection’s not really your thing though, so I guess I’ll be done for now. Good night.

-Sam


	3. Chick Flick Moments

Hey Dean,

I made Rory a bracelet and gave it to her on her birthday. I called soda “pop” (They do that in Chicago, right? I’m supposed to be from Chicago.) and kissed her in the aisle of the grocery store where I work. (And by “work” I mean I stock shelves and wear a ridiculous, green apron.)

But you aren’t here to make fun of me for it all, to call me “Samantha” and say I’m the biggest girl ever, and that just feels horribly wrong. I miss you, kind of a lot. (I figure compared to everything else I’ve just admitted that last one’s no big deal, right?)

-Sam

 p.s. No, I did not get cursed and turn into a girl, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. Jerk.


	4. It's Just School

Hey Dean,

I failed my first class ever today. I’ll just give you a moment for the shock of that to sink in. I. Failed. A. Class.

Technically I failed Dean Forrester’s class. The grade was largely based on homework, and it just didn’t feel worth the time to complete it. I’m only going to that school because my foster parents insist that I have a “normal high school experience.” I’d rather use my time working at the market for spending money, since it’s not like this small town is going to overlook credit card scams. And now that I’m actually going out with Rory I want to spend as much time with her as I can.

Plus, there’s all of the work that I’m doing for my Sam Winchester correspondence courses. I want to take as many advanced classes as I can now, so that I can start on AP classes next year. And, of course, I need to ace them all if I want a shot at a full ride to a top school.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where I want to go. I was considering somewhere with nice weather, like California. There’re a lot of great schools out there, like Caltech, Stanford, or one of the Claremont Colleges.

Then again, Rory really wants to go to Harvard, and I’ll admit it’s been making me wonder. Not about going to Harvard; I can’t really see myself feeling comfortable at an Ivy League school–too much blue blood and old money. But there are other awesome schools in the area. MIT maybe?

So, Dean, if I were actually sending you these letters now is when you’d freak out about these plans. There’s no way I could tell you I’m planning on going to college and not expect a complete overreaction. Of course, there’s no way I could have told you my full alias earlier without you showing up in 24-48 hours.

No, these letters are just for me, another way of thinking things through. (Maybe a little less girly than a diary?) And this way I don’t have to worry about how I would feel if I sent them and you didn’t show up or freak out because you didn’t care. Which is good, ‘cause I don’t want to have to worry about that at all.

-Sam


	5. Dance Drama

Hey Dean,

I know that any high school dances you went to mostly involved spiking the punch and hooking up in the bathroom (if you ever made it out of the Impala). And yes, I talked about prom as part of the “normal high school experience,” but I never thought I’d actually go. But Rory asked, so I couldn’t say, ”No.”

On the positive side, at least it wasn’t boring? Normal people, man, they cause so much drama over the stupidest shit. Rory’s grandma flipped out because I didn’t come to the door to pick Rory up. Then girls from Rory’s school were basically drooling over me right in front of Rory. (Not that I’m actually _opposed_ to an excuse to put my arms around her, but _how_ does someone decide that’s a good idea? And I can just picture your expression at the idea of someone hitting on your little brother.)

Then Tristan showed up. He’s this asshole who’s been giving Rory shit since she started at her new school. She doesn’t phrase it that way, of course, but she’s mentioned a couple of things he’s done that clearly bothered her.

Can you believe he got in my face? Apparently I’ve been too effective at projecting an air of harmless normalcy, because he didn’t take me seriously. I kept my cool, but then he got into Rory’s space, and I lost it a little bit.

I didn’t actually hurt him or anything, but I basically said I would fuck him up if he kept messing with her or actually tried to fight me. He still doesn’t have a clue about what I’m truly capable of, but I think I made a bit more of an impression.

The upside of all of the craziness, though, is that Rory is now my first official girlfriend. I know you don’t do the whole dating “thing,” but you can be happy for me, right?

For the rest of the evening we went back to town. We talked and hung out and read to each other and fell asleep with my arms around her. I know it’s sappy as hell, but it was really nice not having to go to sleep alone. I mean, I have my own room at my foster parents’ house, which is great and all, but it still feels kinda weird at night. I just sleep better with somebody else there, you know? And falling asleep with Rory was just . . . perfect.

Your favorite part, though, would have been the next morning when we got woken up by a bunch of old ladies trying to take a yoga class. Yes, we fell asleep in the town dance studio. Give me a break; it was empty and there aren’t a whole lot of options for privacy in this tiny town.

Anyway, Rory freaked out and ran home. I guess her mom was really mad (my foster parents weren’t exactly thrilled either), but I think things have settled down now. I have a real girlfriend Dean, and she’s beautiful and smart and perfect. I think I could really be happy. I just wish you were here to see it.

Maybe I can send you these letters someday, and then you can understand. I hope so.

-Sam


	6. Just Like Home, Sweet Home

Hey Dean,

So I know I said you’d like Rory (and I stand by that), but man, you’d fall hard for her mom, Lorelai. She’s like the epitome of your type: tall with dark hair, a great smile, sharp wit, and a give-‘em-hell attitude. And I know you’ve always been a fan of older women. Too bad she’d shut you down with barely a second glance. Actually, that might be good for your ego. I’d definitely enjoy watching it.

I went over to their place tonight for pizza and a TV marathon. Eating on the couch in front of the TV still feels more normal than dinner with my foster family at the dining room table. When I pulled out the salad that I got with the pizza I swear Rory and her mom both gave me the exact same look you would have. Add the Impala outside and it would have felt just like home.

Of course, then they started complaining about how ridiculous the mom character in the show was for taking care of her family and cooking and stuff. And obviously they don’t know that Mom stayed at home with us. Hell, I don’t even remember what it was like with her. But it hurt, y’know; it felt like they were mocking the few stories of her that I’d managed to pry out of you and Dad.

I argued with them and tried to justify it by saying my foster mom used to stay home and work, but I don’t think I made a whole lot of sense. I certainly didn’t convince them. The whole thing escalated until it was practically a screaming match and suddenly it felt way too much like home.

I said some stuff I regret–although nothing compared to what I’ve said to Dad in the past. I’m hoping I’ll be able to patch stuff up with Rory tomorrow.

Losing my temper worries me, though. Is there something wrong with me that I’m like this? I mean, butting heads with Dad seems pretty inevitable. Even you’ve got to admit he’s had fights with pretty much every hunter we’ve ever worked with. But fighting with Rory? Over something as stupid as a TV show?

Is there something wrong with me, Dean? I try to tell myself that I just need time to adjust to this normal life, that my reactions are on a hair trigger from living so close to the edge for so long. But what if I’m wrong? What if I can never fit in here, or anywhere normal? Does that mean I can never be safe?

-Sam


	7. Keep Moving Forward

Hey Dean,

You know how I said you’d fall hard for Lorelai, and she wouldn’t give you the time of day? Well, I may have been wrong about that second part. See, I met Rory’s dad today: leather jacket, motorcycle, a cocky attitude, and a laugh that suggests he’s trying a little too hard to get people to like him. Sound like anyone you know?

I think things are mostly patched up between Rory and myself, but I still feel kinda bad about the fight. I just want to be good enough for her, you know? I know I can be an asshole (gonna blame genetics for that one), so I want to do something awesome for her to make up for it.

Don’t laugh, but I think I’m going to build her a car. How hard can it be, right? I mean, I basically grew up in the Impala watching you and Dad take care of it (not that you or Dad would ever let me touch the inner workings of your baby, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention).

I’ve also been taking a bunch of auto shop classes at school (no homework and practical skills; if I have to go to that high school I may as well make the most of it). I’m pretty sure I can figure it out. I’ll just pretend you’re there to help, okay?

-Sam


	8. Three Little Words: Fuck My Life

Hey Dean,

God fucking damn it. Jesus Fucking Christ. Fuck life, the universe, and fucking everything.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people? I mean, with you? Sure. Drama and repression and denial are par for the course, and I never pretended that fucked up impulses were going to lead to some sort of magical bliss. But with Rory? This was supposed to be perfect, man. This was supposed to be my chance at a fairy tale ending. It’s not fucking fair.

I did everything right; I swear to god. It was our anniversary. I got dressed up, took her to a really nice restaurant, and she even said everything was perfect. We were going to watch the fire lighting at this stupid town festival, but first I took her to see the car. It’s not ready yet or anything, but it’s got a frame and seats and stuff, and I wanted her to know that she’s important to me and I’m working on this thing for her. (And maybe I should blame you for making me think cars are all deep and meaningful and symbolic and shit.)

She seemed to like it. I mean, she was surprised, and, in retrospect, maybe a bit overwhelmed, but she said it was amazing. She said the moment was perfect and wonderful, which was basically what I was going for, so I thought everything was going right. And we kissed, and it really did seem perfect.

So I said, “I love you,” and she froze.

She looked at me like a deer in headlights. Between the devastating silence and those huge eyes I had the worst fucking flashback. It was like a knife to the chest. I tried to stay calm; I swear to god I did, but it was so fucking hard. I gave her a minute, reminding myself that her thoughtfulness is part of what I love about her and hoping that she just needed time to process.

And fuck you, Dean, for making an already shitty situation exponentially worse. Because when she said, “I love the car,” I heard _“I love you as a brother.”_

And “I’m just surprised, I didn’t expect . . . ” is nicer than _“What the fuck man? Why would you say that?”_ but either way it’s just a stalling tactic.

And when you said, “I don’t . . .” you both meant the exact same fucking thing, even if Rory tried to sugarcoat it.

And it’s bullshit, because this time I did everything right. I tried so hard to do everything she wanted, be the perfect boyfriend. This wasn’t me blurting out an impulsive response to a near death experience. There was no need to blame this on a post-hunt adrenaline high. This was the next logical step a simple, long-term, monogamous relationship, a relationship in which I could hold her hand in public, put my arm around her in front of parents, and casually refer to her as my girlfriend when anyone asked.

I felt safe around her. I thought she was amazing. I just wanted to do nice things for her and spend as much time with her as possible, so I tried to take our relationship to the next level. And sure that’s sappy, but it’s also fucking _normal_! And in return I basically got slapped in the face.

Fuck it. Fuck trying to fit in and make someone else happy. Fuck being deluded into thinking I could earn someone’s love. I should just accept that it’s never gonna happen. Clearly I’m just too fucked-up to be loved. So what else is new?

Fuck Rory for making me feel this way. Fuck this town for all blaming me for the break up. Fuck you for freaking the fuck out at me, ‘cause that’s the only reason I’m even here in the first place, earning the opportunity to feel this shitty. And fuck me for fucking everything up every time I get even half the chance.

-Sam


	9. Dealing With It

Hey Dean,

I guess I’ve calmed down a bit now and gotten some distance. Looking back at my last letter just makes me think of the lines from Boondock Saints:

“What the fuckin’ fuck? Who the fuck fucked this fuckin’ . . . How did you two fucking fucks . . . fuck!?!”

“Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word.”

I know the movie’s probably too recent and not campy enough for your tastes, but I still think you’d like it. (Although every time they start chanting in Latin I keep expecting it to be an exorcism.)

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently reading and watching movies and working on homework. I’ve almost doubled my correspondence course load. It’s not like I have anything else to do. I can’t go out without being the target of glares and snide comments, so I pretty much stay in except for work and school. I’m not sleeping much, so I have lots of time . . .

You know what, I don’t actually want to write about it or even think about it. If I were you I’d drive to the next town over, drink ‘til I couldn’t walk straight, then pick a fight or pick up a girl or both. Since I’m me, I’m gonna go do calculus and physics until the numbers push everything else out of my brain. Sigh.

-Sam


	10. My Happy Ending

Hey Dean,

She said she loves me.

There were all these signs and hints and I thought maybe they meant something. So I got up the nerve to ask, but then I almost chickened out. She said, “Stop,” and I said, “Why?” and she said, “Because I love you, you idiot.” When we kissed it felt safe and secure and _right_ , because I _finally_ knew that I had someone who loved me back.

And I thought you’d appreciate the “idiot” part.

So now everything’s good, I guess. I mean, she loves me and I love her, so that should be it, right? I finally get to start my “happily ever after.”

And you can sneer all you want, because being happy isn’t sappy or stupid or anything like that. People have a _right_ to be happy, Dean. It’s _inalienable_ , so I’m not gonna let you or anyone else alienate me.  I’m gonna take a pure, simple love and some happy, safe kisses and just enjoy the feeling.

And it’ll be enough. It won’t remind me of anything else, and I won’t miss you at all. And someday, years from now, I’ll show you all of these letters. We’ll laugh together about how young and stupid I was to almost give up on true love, and it won’t hurt a bit.

Damn, I hope someday hurries up and gets here soon.

-Sam


	11. Dramatic Irony

Hey Dean,

I think it’s hilarious how much Rory’s grandparents object to her dating “Dean Forrester.” I mean, as Dean I have this idyllic suburban lifestyle with two loving parents, a sweet little sister, and a two-story house with an honest-to-god white picket fence. Can you imagine how they’d react to Sam Winchester’s itinerant life of seedy motel rooms and vicious monsters? How important would my grades and college plans be then? The irony is killing me.

At first I imagined rubbing the truth in their smug faces. Then I imagined your reaction if you saw their condescending attitude, and that worked even better.

It’s probably good you weren’t there, though. If I had to watch them be assholes to you, it might not have been funny anymore. And I needed to find the humor so I could keep my cool and be the gentleman that Rory deserves. After all, the last thing I want to do is prove them right.

-Sam


	12. Drunken Ramblings

Hey Dean,

Lemme tell you about Jess. Jess is short. Really fucking short. And a real fucking asshole. And he’s a boy, even though Jess is totally a girl’s name. Hey, maybe that’s why he sucks so much. Maybe he’s overcompensating for his stupid name.

He’s definitely overcompensating for something with his stupid leather jacket and stupid bitchy attitude. Like being an asshole makes you cool. ‘s not fuckin’ hard to do. And it’s not fuckin’ cool. And he’s not fuckin’ anybody, even though he wants to be . . . at least he better not be . . . Shit. I don’ wanna be thinkin’ like that . . . Rory would never . . .

Okay. So maybe I’m maybe a little bit wasted. So what? And damnit, if I’m gonna be wasted I don’ wanna be maudlin or emo or whiny or crap. I wanna be pissed. And Jess is plenty . . . uh . . . piss inspiring? Or something. Whatever the fuck. Yeah.

Stupid jacket when it’s not even cold. (Did I say about the jacket already? It’s stupid, man. Seriously.) And acting like he’s all damaged and stuff just ‘cause his mommy doesn’t pay enough attention to him. Dude. Tough shit. Imagine how fast he’d curl into a ball and cry if he had to deal with Dad. I bet it’d just take one look man. One fucking look . . .

Like the way he fucking looks at Rory, and she keeps looking back . . . No. Shit. Not angsty, pissed. Right. I can do pissed.

So, yeah. Imagine him trying to go on a hunt. He’d prob’ly shit himself on a easy, second-rate haunting. Prob’ly get himself killed real fast, too. Burn the house down around his own ears, just like those hunters that got themselves crushed and burned in an abandoned house trying to get rid of a couple of ghosts.

Of course the paper didn’t say that’s what it was, but just ‘cause I’m not looking for hunts doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to read between the lines. Fuck you Dean. I’m not dumb. I still know what goes on out there, and I only thought it might be you and Dad for a second because the front of the article mentioned an Impala. And the panic attack basically ended as soon as I turned to the inside and saw the picture.

The car was completely the wrong model, and the guys were way too old. And I totally didn’t drive out here just to double check. I just came to get drunk where no one would know to question my ID. And, apparently, to rage about Jess in a stupid, drunk letter. So fuck Jess, and fuck you, and thank God you aren’t fucking dead.

-Sam

p.s. If you are fucking dead after all of this drama, just lying in a ditch or in some monster’s stomach, I swear to God Dean I’m gonna find you and kill you like five more times for being so irresponsible. Then you can have a shot at me for running away, and then I’ll kill you a couple more times for good measure.

p.p.s. Seriously. Don’t be dead, okay?


	13. Can't Let it Go

Hey Dean,

I fucked up, man. I showed Rory a hint of the freak I really am. I spent so long trying to seem completely normal, but that’s all shot to hell now because of you. Because after I saw that article I couldn’t stop worrying about you. I know it wasn’t you and Dad, but it could have been.

Ever since I left I’ve been reminding myself how you used to say that Dad would never let anything happen to us. That he was invincible and invulnerable and infallible. And sure, I never believed you at the time, but I desperately wanted to. And it was easier to pretend that Dad was perfect when I didn’t have to interact with him anymore.

But the article shattered the last layers of my self-delusion. So I’ve started scouring the internet for any articles or posts that might give me a sign, one way or another, about whether you’re still . . . you know . . . I haven’t found anything conclusive, of course, and I think the hints and possibilities have actually made me feel worse.

I actually caved and tried to call you, but the number was disconnected. I panicked for a moment before reassuring myself that we always switched up phones every couple of months. I realized I could reach out to one of our other contacts to get your new number, but by that time I’d regained control over the impulse to call. I want to know that you’re safe, but I’m not ready to face you in person, and I know I can’t have one without the other. So I’ll just keep looking for circumstantial evidence. At least that’s safe, if not particularly satisfying.

Of course, in the middle of my call/not call dilemma I tried calling Rory for a distraction and got her voice mail. My mind immediately latched onto a whole new reason for panic. Sure there’s never been any sign of the Supernatural in or around Stars Hollow, but there’s a limit to how much I could check the area between here and Rory’s school, and we both know that sometimes things show up without warning. What if something recognized me and then went after her?

I told myself that I was being stupid, so I waited a little bit and called back–still no answer. I left the most casual, light-hearted message that I could manage. I tried a few more times. Then I remembered that Rory had said she would be home late, so I said as much on my next message, but I still couldn’t get my fears out of my head. Eventually her mom answered, but since she hadn’t actually heard from Rory either it didn’t really help me feel any better. The later it got the more worried I felt and the harder it was to try to sound rational, calm, and positive in my messages. When I finally talked to Rory I was basically a mess, so it’s no surprise to conversation was super short and awkward.

It wasn’t until afterwards that I realized that calling fourteen times in three hours comes off as crazy no matter how carefully you avoid mentioning monsters, ghosts, and demons. And sure, Rory and her mom don’t know the real reason behind it all, but I don’t think that’s winning me any points. They just assume that I’m jealous about Jess. Which, okay, fair. I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him. And that doesn’t help.

But mostly I just need to know that someone in my life is safe right now. And I know I’m smothering Rory. I know it isn’t helping. I’m probably driving her away, which makes it even harder to try and protect her. It’s not like I can explain myself to her, or like she’d believe me if I tried.

It’s just a lose-lose situation, and I don’t know what to do. Nobody’s safe, nobody’s happy, and there’s nobody I can really go to for advice. I really wish you were here, Dean. ‘Cause . . . just ‘cause.

-Sam

p.s. I may have washed her car with holy water and re-checked all the protective signs and sigils I carved into it, just to be on the safe side.


	14. Too Much to Take

Hey Dean,

I have had it with Jess and Rory and all of it. It’s like he’s everywhere and I can’t _do_ anything about it. I’m so on edge all the time, holding on to the rational part of my brain that knows he’s not “evil;” he’s not a “monster.” He keeps pushing and pushing at me, and I can’t even really say anything back because Rory will get upset and think less of me.

And maybe she _should_ think less of me. I don’t think she realized how much I meant it when I said I would kill Tristan, and I know she doesn’t understand how easily and happily I would hurt Jess. Sure she’s seen me get angry sometimes, but she has no idea what would happen if I ever really let that anger take control.

Sometimes I think even _I_ don’t really know what I’m capable of. Then I wonder if she really would be better off with Jess, or at least away from me. Maybe I can never really be somewhere safe, because I make it unsafe just by existing.

And that’s the other thing. It’s starting to feel like Rory _can’t_ think less of me, because she doesn’t really think about me at all. And that hurts.

What gives her the right to ignore me like I don’t matter? To take me for granted and give all of her attention to someone else because they’re “new” and “exciting” and I’m just the reliable one that she feels obligated to stay with?

I had to take that crap from you for years, Dean, and she’s not you. Sure I loved her, love her, but it’s not the same. There’s no question. Compared to how I feel about you, it doesn’t even come close. So, no. There’s no way I’m going to just stand there and take it this time. No way in hell.

I feel like I’m going to explode Dean. It’s this jittery feeling of anxiety and frustration building up, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what I _should_ do. I just know I’m going to screw up, and I’m worried I’m going to hurt someone. I’m scared–I can’t–I need–I don’t know. It’s all just too much. I’m sorry.

-Sam


	15. Phone Call

_“Dean?”_

_“. . .”_

_“Dean, it’s–it’s Sam. Please, please don’t hang up. I called Bobby, and he gave me your new number, and I–I’m so, so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean–I didn’t think–I. . . I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I swear. I’ll be okay with whatever you want, and I won’t push for anything more. I promise. Just . . . can you . . . will you come get me? Please?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on my Tumblr at http://revedeshautbois.tumblr.com/post/57392594630/you-cant-run-from-whats-inside-you. I thought AO3 would be a better format for sharing fics.
> 
> I'd love any comments, positive or critical.


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